


Feel My Pulse

by borealvalley



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Chronic Pain, Coffee, Dark fic, Dominant Kylo Ren, F/M, Obsession, Rey is a mess, Short Chapters, doctor kylo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-08-24 20:18:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16647065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borealvalley/pseuds/borealvalley
Summary: Rey suffers from chronic pain. Doctor Ren intends to relieve that suffering.





	1. oops

The small cafe is sweltering from the number of bodies crushed inside. I'm used to the cacophonic morning rush, but the twinge in my lower back has me spilling coffee like the cups are made of lead. I have to squint to see through the bright spotlights on the hot bar, the pounding behind my eyes relentless. Finn jumps between taking cash and stuffing bakery items into brown bags, handing them to haughty customers bitter at waiting for their coffee. Maz is usually out front to help with drinks in the morning, but a particularly loud customer absorbs her full attention.

My vision blurs, milk from my steaming pitcher spilling over the side of a to-go cup. I double cup it and call it good, calling out the latte and its companion foofy mint mocha with chocolate whipped cream. 

A red haired man in scrubs and a big winter jacket appears at the counter, face set in perpetual sneer. Majority of customers here in the morning are from the hospital down the block, even though they have their own cafeteria. Maz's beans are legendary in this city.

“I never got my scones,” the man sniffs. He orders the same thing every morning- a latte and whatever the latest seasonal concoction Maz slaps on the menu, plus two white chocolate scones. I swallow my comment that the grocery store behind us sells the same for half the price. I nod and slide across a puddle of my own making past Finn, open the sliding glass door on the bakery case and toss two scones into a bag. My fingers curl around the handle just as I pivot and my shoe slips on the wet mess pooling on the ceramic tiles. The flimsy glass falls with me in a mortifying crash. I held the bag of scones aloft, at least.

“Oh my god, Rey- your hand!” Rose pops from her usual corner seat on the bar. I look down and can't breathe. My hand is sliced open, soft flesh near the base of my thumb flapping. Blood swirls with spilled milk and coffee like a sick mural under the shattered glass. Rose crouches next to me, wrapping the towel from my back pocket around my palm. I wave Finn away. We’re up to our eyeballs in customers. 

“Goddammit, Hux, help me out here!” 

The red haired man sighs and steps forward. She shoves her coffee and the bag of scones still in my fist at him. Maz appears with a broom and my jacket, and I'm led through the crowd to the door with Rose. She drapes my jacket over my shoulders, applying pressure to my hastily dressed wound as we trot through salt and slush to the tall glass doors of Organa Memorial Hospital. Rose steps behind the reception desk to grab paperwork while I sway in place. I can't feel my fingers.

“She bled on our scones.”

Hux grumbles to his companion, eyeing his drink with distaste even though I didn't bleed on it. A doctor with black hair brushing the collar of his white coat quirks his brow at the crumpled bag of scones in his hand. A deep red saturates the side. Dark eyes meet mine. I feel woozy and realize I'm covered in milk. My grip loosens on the towel and blood drips between my shoes.

Rose pulls me down the hall to sew me up, yells for Hux to leave her coffee in the break room. I leave a mess of bloody patterns on the sterile tiles, vaguely aware of the stare pricking my sore back.

\---

Six stitches later I'm slumped in a stiff hospital chair, my pea coat thrown over my head to hide from the blinding white lights. The smell of industrial cleaning products isn't helping, either. Rose, the angel nurse, offered me a ride home at the end of her shift. I finger the pill bottle in my pocket, feeling the percocet slowly kick in. She convinced me to take a prescription, but I'm not keen on painkillers. I doze off to the tranquil intercom lady's voice and rubber wheels zipping past me.

“You alive under there?”

Deep baritone snaps me from my nap. I slowly peel my coat away from my face. My cheeks are red from the stuffy air under it. The dark eyed doctor looms over me, a pillar of white and unobtrusive khakis with a blue sweater. He has a long face, large nose, even larger lips. His head tilts when I don't answer.

“Y-yeah,” I manage, way past the socially acceptable time to reply. He's _tall_. I feel small in the squeaky chair. 

“You made quite a mess in the hall earlier.” 

“Sorry.” As soon as I close my mouth I realize he’s poking fun. His lips curl at the corners, penetrating eyes never leaving mine. It feels intrusive yet I can't tear myself away. 

“Don't be. I'm impressed how much blood you lost, considering you didn't lose a body part.” 

“I do love to paint,” I snort. He smiles and my heart palpitates. His lips are so...pillowy. 

“What's your name, Van Gogh?” 

“Rey.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but Rose rounds the corner zipping up her down jacket. 

“‘Kay, clutz, let’s get you to your bed.” She eyes the doctor. “How’s your day, Doctor Ren?” 

“Can't complain.” His eyes flit over my face. I must have chocolate syrup on me again. “Keep those stitches covered for a couple days, Miss Rey.”

I nod, watch him saunter past the walls of glass into a silver elevator while I struggle my paw of gauze through my coat sleeve.

“I owe you, Rose. Anything you want,” I croak.

There's a mischievous glint in her eye and I immediately regret the offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's gonna get dark but like  
> slow dimming the lights ok
> 
> I'll always tag when it escalates


	2. knight

Even with one hand I'm faster than Finn at making drinks, so I'm stuck with a rubber glove over my injured hand as I splash milk everywhere. Maz doesn't care about the messes I make- as long as I keep it all below the waist where customers can't see- but she pushed me to the evening shift tonight just in case. 

The regular pounding in my skull has me grateful. I can’t tell her how much pain I’m in, or she’ll force me to take time off. The bottle of pills, still full, is abandoned somewhere at the bottom of my backpack.

Finn leans across the bar poised over a napkin, bumping heads with Rose. A bass line and sad guitar melody echoes from her phone speaker. 

Finn frowns at me. “You did say anything.”

It’s been a while since I’ve painted anything for anyone. Knowing followers of their indie band would be looking at the album art I create is exciting- and also makes me want to chew my nails off. From what Rose says, they’ve gained some popularity. I raise my good hand in surrender. “Fine, fine, play the sample again.”

It’s melancholy and a little creepy. Fitting with the dreary cloudy day. I grab Finn’s napkin. He has a stick figure with a sword drawn on top of a rudimentary bird.

“What is this, Finn?” I point to the squiggly lines dissecting the bird’s body.

“The knight comes out of the body of a massive raven!” He swings his arm upwards with the imagined size of the giant beast. Rose watches him, rosy cheek in hand, smitten. 

“So, this knight is a harbinger of death?” 

Finn nods. I sigh and grab some more napkins. The welcome bell rings and we abandon our side project as a small wave of customers come.

“Small latte, please.” 

I gawk at the giant in front of the register. An equally tall blonde woman orders with him before claiming stools behind me at our rounded bar. He doesn't look like a doctor now, but just as intimidating swathed in all black. He pulls leather gloves from long fingers, nodding to me briefly when I set their pale mugs down before continuing his hushed conversation with his companion. 

The cafe is nearly empty again, and Finn pulls me to Rose's corner seat. I glance behind us self consciously, but no one pays attention to Rose’s repeating melody. Maz’s ambient soundtrack is loud enough they probably can’t hear us.

Soon enough I’m bickering with Finn about his dark knight bursting through Big Bird’s body, napkins strewn on the bar of various angles of a man in a shower of feathers and bone. Rose convinces him against having a woman in white cling to his leg. The street lights outside activate as the day wanes.

“I’m so excited to see what you’ll come up with!” 

Rose downs the last of her cooled drink before rising. Finn pulls her into a lingering embrace before rolling our safety mats up for cleaning. My sense of accomplishment fades when the familiar pinching returns to my spine from hours on concrete. He snatches the broom from me when I start to sweep the lobby.

“Nope, nuh-uh. I’m going to put on some music better than Maz’s mystical-acoustic guitar mix, and you’re going to relax for at least thirty minutes.” He pats me on the shoulders before shoving me towards a booth. He’s already placed a thermos next to a muffin and my backpack. “Don’t worry about me, I brought extra. You shouldn’t skip meals, Rey,” he chides.

I sigh and sink into the lumpy leather seat. Finn's smooth playlist interrupts a strange song consisting of only chimes. The thermos is full of soup, probably homemade, knowing Finn. He seated me behind the two doctors, but their conversation is still hushed. The woman slips into her spotless white coat before wishing Doctor Ren farewell and shaking his hand. I rub circles into my eyelids, wishing I could reach behind them and yank the thorn lodged there out of my skull. The aching in my sutured hand pulls at the seams.

“How are you, Miss Rey?”

The black fuzz from the pressure on my eyes dissipates, shapes reforming into his long pale face. Today’s paper folded tightly on his thigh, he has thin semi-rim spectacles balanced on the bridge of his nose. I lift my wrapped hand.

“Well, it’s better than yesterday.” Lame reply, idiot. Of course it’s better- I was spewing red on everything yesterday.

“And the headaches?”

I stiffen. He’s staring at me the same piercing way as yesterday- like he’ll reprimand me if I don’t give him the correct answer. I shrug, retreating from his gaze to pick at my muffin.

“They come and go.”

“The prescription you were given for your hand may help them temporarily.”

“Uh, taking medications rub me the wrong way. Anyway, I’m not afraid of a little pain.”

I glance at him when he doesn’t reply. Still observing. Calculating.

“Addiction only happens in long term use. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain from such a low dose, Miss Rey.”

Just like that, he cuts through my thinly veiled excuse. I sigh and rifle through my things for the pill bottle. He's right. I should be more trusting of professionals- Rose would never endanger me.

“What do you do, Doctor Ren?”

“I work with the emergency psychiatry department.”

“Emergency?” 

He nods. “I have my own private practice, but general hospitals have been in need for the expertise in urban areas.”

“That must be time consuming, doing both.” I try not to linger on his body. His legs are long enough for the toe of his leather shoe to brush the floor from his perch on the bar stool. His sweater sleeves are rolled up, veins lacing solid forearms.

“My time as of late is spent on a new directive for the hospital. We’re hoping to implement streamlined at-home services for chronic patients.”

Doctor Ren raises his eyebrows and nods to the bottle hiding under my fingers. I manage to twist the bottle cap and pop a small oval of pink on my tongue. He smiles when I gulp my tea. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

I blanch, frozen in his stare until Finn breaks his hold. 

“Maz wants to know if you’re good for Monday morning,” he yells. The office line is still an ancient corded telephone- he can barely poke his head through the back door. I toss him an affirmation and hastily pile my dishes on top of each other. When I turn I have to clutch them to my chest. Doctor Ren is standing so close I can smell the faint cologne in his clothes. My head barely reaches his shoulders. The welcome bell rings.

“I should get back to help Finn,” I say. I watch his pointed shoes. I can’t meet his discerning stare or the blush I can feel on my chest will shoot to my cheeks.

“Of course. Have a pleasant evening, Miss Rey,” Doctor Ren says. One arm is already through one of his coat sleeves. He takes up a wide berth to swing it on. He’s not trying to make me uncomfortable, but I feel the heat creep up my neck regardless. I stumble behind the counter to make drinks for nurses I often see this late at night. When I peek around the espresso machines I catch the tail of his ulster under the street lights as he fades into inky black.


	3. ugly duckling

“Jess failed to mention she was going out of town this weekend. We have no one to come in for closing shift, and Finn has to leave by seven.” 

Maz scowls at the schedule. We already have a small roster to choose from. Kaydel curses, tossing dirty dishes into the back sink. She’s already covered half of the girl’s shifts. Suds float through the air.

I lift my hand, but Maz shakes her head at me. I follow her to the floor, watching her fill the newly repaired bakery case with croissants. “Rey, you’ve done enough around here. I can come back and close.”

“It’s fine, I can handle it. They’ve cancelled classes tomorrow anyway because of the snow.”

The tiny woman narrows her eyes at me.

“I know you haven't seen Chewie in a while- you should see him before he heads back to Germany.”

Maz sighs. She’s a hardass, but her tough exterior cracks when it comes to her lover. “I worry about you, girl. Are you spending enough time on your classes?”

I nod vigorously. “It’ll probably be slow enough I can do my homework here.” I grin at my own master plan.

Maz frowns. “Fine. But you’re taking the next two days off, no matter what happens.” 

I salute. “Aye, aye cap.” 

Within another few minutes the morning rush begins, and I slip into the fast paced routine. I swallowed my pride along with the painkillers when I arrived, and it's easier to work with the dulled pain. 

Hux shows up with his regular order. I grab my marker from my apron and draw a smiling face on the latte. Doctor Ren is intimidating as hell, but he seems nice enough. Dealing with critical patients can’t be an easy task. I offer Hux the drinks with a wide grin, unperturbed by his deepening scowl. 

Most of the day passes in a blur. It's busy and stuffy as hell, but traffic drops when fat flakes drift from the grey sky. By the time an inch has fallen, barely anyone is venturing into the snow for coffee. We finish the closing tasks with ease, and I shove Finn out the door when he offers to stay. He gives me his music player before pulling his hood up.

“If you get bored.” He winks.

And oh, I do. I finish majority of my homework facing the entrance, but no one comes. I thoroughly scrub chair legs until they’re spotless, even rearrange the freezer in alphabetical order. Finn’s music is miles better than the ambient guitar and chimes. I spend an hour scattering sketches for Finn and Rose’s dark knight on the bar, but I feel a bit lazy for not cleaning. I peek through the back room window before upping the volume and settling into hand washing light fixtures. They’re pretty heavy, but I set them in my lap and use the office chair to roll them back to their tables.

I’m reattaching the last glass lampshade, singing freely with one of Finn’s finished songs and standing on a booth seat when something shifts behind me. I yelp, the fixture slipping from my good hand and bouncing on the table, but large hands cradle it before it can shatter on the floor. Doctor Ren blinks. 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.” I must not have heard the bell over the music.

“My apologies, I should have made myself known. You seemed to be enjoying yourself.” He surveys the bared light bulb. I swing the glass onto its hook. Strong fingers curl around my elbow when I wobble on the seat and he gently pulls me down. I stand between his feet, staring at the buttons of his jacket. Cheery pop music abruptly tears me from my reverie.

“Need a late night boost?” I ask.

“Of a sort. I thought maybe you would have closed, but I heard your music outside.” He’s staring at me again but I'm ready for its intensity this time. I meet it with a smile. His knuckles graze my forearm and he steps to the register. 

“There's usually a few nurses who come before close, but the snow was a little much for everyone. Except you,” I say.

He's quiet as he watches me prepare espresso and milk, idly carding through the sketches I left out. Must be tired- I know the feeling. I rub my neck, rolling my shoulders back in a light stretch. It was a good day, but the stiffness is returning to its former glory. Milky layers fold and curl into each other as I pour, delicate feathers sprouting as a swan takes form at the top of the cup. 

“You have had a long day, Miss Rey.” 

I shrug. “It's not so bad. I'm getting the next few days off. How did you know I've been here so long?”

“Maz is not the type to write personalized messages on cups.”

Warmth shoots from my neck to blotchy patches on my cheeks. I can feel how red I am.

I doubted he would notice it. Now he's _here_.

I will my fingers to stay steady as I set his cup down. His eyes flit across my face, taking in my flustered state. Hint of a smile.

“You're good.”

“What?”

“Your sketches. They're quite dynamic.” 

He taps a more developed sketch of a raven morphed with a battle ready knight. He organized my drawings- they sit in a perfect stack under his hand.

“Thanks. Finn wanted to make t shirts, so I'm experimenting.”

He nods as if lost in thought, gazing between the swan in his coffee and the inky mess of the raven's feathers. 

“Have you seen a doctor for your headaches, Miss Rey?”

I nod. His long fingers tighten on the mug handle and he frowns.

“MRI scans may pinpoint the source of them. Hux is a neurologist.”

“Oh, I don't think that's a good idea. My insurance-”

“Were expenses a non issue, would you do what I say?”

His sudden sternness makes me stare at my hands while I wring them. My knuckles are dry from constant washing. 

“It's never _not_ been an issue,” I say.

My stitches were thankfully mostly covered by my insurance, but the bill is large enough to force me to skip buying meat for the month.

He brushes his hair back from his forehead. It's thick and glossy, well kept. His black phone is in his hand immediately, tapping away rapidly. I go back to cleaning, awkwardly avoiding his field of view as I start to close up shop. He's probably frustrated with my excuse, like most doctors who suggested testing. I can't just grow a few extra thousand dollars from my nose to cover them. 

He's finished with his coffee when I reluctantly return, keys in hand and half the cafe obscured in shadow. He notes my gloves and worn boots as I tighten the laces.

“Did you drive?” he asks.

I shake my head, but wish I didn't because he stiffens. 

“It's snowing,” he says emphatically. 

I wince. “It's fine, it's not that far of a walk.” 

Never mind the snow drifts that are accumulating, visibly stacking against the tall glass windows. 

He tosses his overcoat on, dons his leather gloves.

“I'm taking you home,” he declares. “Are you finished?”

My walk would probably take twice as long in this weather... I nod, stuffing my sketches into my backpack. He waits at the door as I activate the security alarm and lock up before corralling me to the hospital parking garage behind the gleaming building. A sleek black car blips its unlocking mechanism, and I stamp my feet a few extra times before sliding in. He lights a few buttons and liquid heat soothes my lower back. I fail to prevent a satisfied sigh from slipping through my lips.

I whisper my street, but he's already tearing through the thickening intersections. His phone vibrates during the drive, but he only picks it up when we're outside my apartment building. He pulls a glove off with his teeth and taps a few moments, then glances at me. The blue light of his phone illuminates his aquiline nose and dark locks. 

“Come to the hospital on Wednesday, eight o’clock. Hux owes me a favor, so I'm calling it in. Is that acceptable for you, Miss Rey?” 

“Are you sure, Doctor Ren?” 

“Positive. And call me Kylo.”

“Even during pro bono consultations?” I joke.

He watches my hands fidgeting between my thighs, which are nice and warm from the seat heater. His leather clad fingers clench around the steering wheel.

“Do you wish to become my patient, Rey?” 

It should be a simple answer, but the question feels weighty. I can feel a blush rising again.

“I don't think I can afford you,” I choke out.

He smiles. “Kylo it is, then.”

I thank him profusely before stumbling through a snowbank burying the apartment stairs. I don't realize until I'm hidden under a stack of quilts that I never pointed out my building number to him.

Did I?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of semester is kicking my ass - I'll try my best to update once a week, probably Sundays.
> 
> Feedback helps a lot! I cherish every comment. <3


	4. foot in the door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's another sunday upda-  
> -wait. it's midnight on a wednesday?  
> shit.

I'm regretting not bringing my own metal-free pants because hospital gowns are _not_ comfortable. The ties in the back tickle my spine, gooseflesh pebbling from the cool air. 

My head is swimming today- I wore sunglasses on my commute here, and only removed them when the kind nurse asked. The bright lights and white walls have me in a perpetual squint as I listen to Hux roll through his instructions. I assumed he might hate me, but no one is safe from his sour attitude- the nurse who took my weight and blood pressure said as much when he yanked my clipboard out of her hand. 

“Don't move during the test, or my efforts will be for naught,” Hux says boredly. He gestures to the table contraption behind me. “Soon as you're settled we’ll get started.” 

When I'm prostrated on the table, the machine hums and pulls me into its core. They offered sedatives for the test, but I don't want to take more medications than I need- the strong painkillers were already pushing it. My hands shake in trepidation. I hear shoes click on the linoleum floor, fading behind the partition where Hux sits. I close my eyes, sucking in air as the gradients inside click rapidly and the test starts. 

I focus on staying as still as possible, my eyelids sore from squeezing by the time it finishes. I peek through the window to the room of medical computers, but Hux is alone. 

“Congratulations, you survived,” Hux drawls, briefly eyeing my trembling hands. He scribbles rapidly on a clipboard before dropping it in the mesh wall mount. He nudges me out of the room grumbling about five minutes, then frowns when I freeze in the hallway. I forgot where the locker room is, and everything is so _bright_.

“No wonder he’s smitten,” Hux mutters. He drops me at the lockers and stomps away into the searing light.

I manage to slip into my clothes, my hand still wrapped in gauze pawing at my zippers. My fingers trail along the textured wall as I wander the hallway trying to locate the elevator. I've definitely walked for too long when a weight presses lightly on my shoulder.

“Rey?” 

I crane my neck to a familiar jawline, but the light flares like a sunspot and tears spring to my lashes.

“The pills aren't helping today,” I mumble. I sound pitiful to my own ears. So embarrassing. 

“I'm sorry to hear that. I'll bring you to the lobby.”

“Why are you here?” I ask, and immediately feel stupid. He works here, Rey.

“You're in the east wing. Emergency units are the floor below us. I was on my way to a routine check, but it can wait a few minutes,” Kylo says when I open my mouth to object.

A warm hand grabs my elbow and guides me to one of the hospital's chrome elevators. He pulls me inside. The doors slide close, blocking the clamor of conversation and mechanical beeps and we slowly descend. I thought the silence would be welcome, but all I can hear is the pounding in my skull and my rasping breaths.

I sway as the pulsing crescendos, backpack strap dropping from my shoulder. My bag thumps to the floor. I hear the grind of the zipper opening. 

“Do you have sunglasses?” 

I nod. He's a blur of white on black. I'm sure he looks nice, but all I see are wobbly shapes. He sifts through the clutter then my phone screen unlocking clicks. 

“Is there someone I can call? Family?”

Finn and Rose are working and I can't let Maz see me like this. There's no one. I sob in frustration and dip my head. 

“Shh, shh…” 

Kylo slaps the control panel and the elevator lurches to a halt. Rough warmth rubs away the salty tracks under my eyes. He whispers encouragement in my ear, slipping my tinted glasses onto the bridge of my nose. Thick fingers brush frizz away from my hot cheeks and bury into my hair. They press firmly into the base of my neck, pulling me into him. I melt against his frame, burying my face into his soft linen shirt in an attempt to hide from my pain and embarrassment. It smells like cotton dryer softener. His ministrations don't stop the pounding, but I can focus on the circles he kneads into my stiff muscles.

A few minutes pass before my tear reserve depletes. I break the silence with a wet sniff and pull away enough to wipe at my face. I smeared my glasses when I stuffed my head into his chest.

“I'm sorry. Thank you.” I blink through burning eyelids at him.

Kylo nods. He smooths my hair back one last time before deactivating the emergency brakes. The elevator creaks into motion and empties near the front reception desk. He zips my backpack and deposits me on a solitary lounge chair looking out the towering glass windows. My phone clicks and he hands it to me.

“Where is your coat?” he asks. 

I curse. He pushes me back into the cushion when I try to stand.

“Wait here. I'll bring you home after we get you some food. How does that sound?”

I shrink into my hoodie, avoiding his eyes. His attention is almost too much for me right now, but the idea of a bus ride in this state sounds like torture perfected from hell.

“Okay.” 

Kylo reappears twenty minutes later draped in black, ratty peacoat over his arm. Leather grazes my neck as he pulls my hair from under the collar. I meet the wide eyes of the nurse at the reception desk who stares between the towering man and my blotchy face before he directs me to the ground floor parking lot.

He brings me to a small French cafe with white tablecloths and frosted glass windows. The waitress’s rising eyebrows tell me my worn boots have no place on their colorful tiles, but Kylo’s assertion distracts her from my casual outfit. He asks her for a corner table, and I tuck myself behind a shady fern. It’s quiet and warm from the sun, too early for the usual lunch crowd to arrive.

Kylo orders for me while folding his overcoat, but the pain radiating in my skull makes it hard to care. He barely fits on the wire chair. His knee brushes between mine under the table, the other leg stretching out to box me into my corner. 

I don’t know how to feel about his constant contact- Finn doesn’t even touch me this much unless we’re drinking. I don’t hate it, but the way he looks at me makes me think there’s a significance to it that I’m not aware of.

Smitten, huh. Most men would ask to go out to dinner and drinks if they were interested, right? Is this some type of proposition?

A plate of quiche lorraine and onion soup arrives. He takes the cheesy toast, crushing it over the soup before I can grab my spoon and stirs in the crumbs. Pours my tea into a delicate glass cup before settling into a slice of quiche.

If it is, I’ve never had a date so attentive and willing to enter my personal space that didn’t involve groping. Not that I have much experience dating, but it is...refreshing. 

I hold my tea to my face. The chamomile steam soothes my cold nose and puffy eyelids.

“You won’t be reprimanded for taking a longer lunch, will you?”

His dark hair shifts when he shakes his head. “Most of my work is by paper and meetings between the hospital and First Order. I only have a few patients who require in-patient care.”

I stir my soup and take a sip. The broken croutons soaked in enough liquid that the crunching sound won’t hurt my head. It’s the best onion soup I’ve ever had. I’m still hungry when I scrape my bowl clean. He has my own plate of quiche ready when I set the bowl down.

His phone chirps. He frowns when he checks the screen.

“I have to take this.” 

His knee leaves its place between mine and he stands. He nods to the quiche. “Eat.”

I eat half the pie before pausing to catch my breath. My phone vibrates in my pocket. Jessica can’t make _another_ of her shifts and needs Kaydel’s number.

I scroll through my contacts to send her the info but pause on the name menu. Beneath _Kaydel Connix_ and above an old flower shop I used to love lies a new tab. _Kylo Ren_.


	5. smooth as silk

Kylo picks up his own coffee the next morning. When I meet his eyes at the pickup corner I drop a cup's contents down my apron, squawking an awkward greeting. His gaze slides down with the espresso, watching pink bloom on my chest. 

I expect him to talk to me, but he leaves with a quiet farewell.  I swallow at the kernel of disappointment in my throat. He visits the next day, and then the next, never giving me more than a calculating once over and a polite nod before parting the sea of customers to the door. I would start conversation if we weren't swamped in the mornings- Maz is gone on a business trip for the week.

I never asked him about his number in my phone. How do I tell someone who has been supportive from the get go I felt invaded? He clearly has no definition of personal space. I could delete it, but whenever I hover over his tab I'm left staring at the tiny trash can prompt.

The rest of that afternoon was uneventful- he simply dropped me at my door and left. He probably left his number after seeing my worst. For whatever reason, he wants to be sure I'll contact him if it happens again. 

I recall the press of his thick fingers on my neck.

Despite his overbearance, I don’t think I would oppose that if it happened again.

\---

“Deep breaths, babe.” Rose pats my arm. 

I wince as the stitches slip from tender skin. The pain is mild compared to getting them put in place, though. Rose works deftly, and soon I'm free from the black netting. My skin looks ugly, but Rose is unfazed.

“It healed really well, looks like it won't scar. Just be soft on it for a while.” 

She rubs benzoin tincture on either side of the healing cut, pulling the skin together with tiny strips of adhesive bandage and wrapping gauze around it loosely.

Rose smiles.

“Lunch?” 

We settle for a tiny local place with amazing tacos. She pours over two drawings I finished for them. Moody black ink with sharp features on the knight's helm. In one, the knight holds a greatsword, tendrils of red in watercolor trailing its blade as it plunges into the feathered beast around him. The other is a better version of the one I remember Kylo tapping, with black wings curled around the armored figure, feathers jutting from chainmail and sprouting from his neck. His facial features are hidden behind a curtain of black and more plumage. 

I know who I _would_ have drawn, but I'm not sure I want to explain that to anyone who might recognize my inspiration. 

“These are beautiful, Rey. They would make amazing decals,” she gushes. I wiggle in my seat and stuff a corn tortilla in my mouth. It feels good to accomplish something unrelated to work or school. 

The back of my head throbs, but the sun glaring off the snow outside is pleasant. I lose myself in mindless chatter with Rose and plan some movie nights and drinks on her rare days off. 

Poe got them a spot at a venue in a few weeks, giving them enough time to print posters for the performance.

“Molly saw the strangest thing at the hospital last week,” she says around a mouthful of escabeche. “Doctor Ren was with someone. A _woman_.”

I frown at my beans. “And that's shocking how?” 

“He’s extremely professional at work. Rarely talks with anyone unless it has to do with the hospital, aside from Hux, but they both met through the First Order Association.” 

Her fellow nurse probably saw me leaving with him. I shrug. “Maybe he’s an introvert.” 

Rose quirks an eyebrow. “You mentioned you were at the hospital for scans earlier. You didn't see anything odd?”

“I wasn't aware nurses gossiped this much. It's probably nothing.”

It _is_ nothing. No one would willingly try to date someone who writhes in pain on a regular basis.

Rose scrutinizes me as I push food around my empty plate and gasps. She leans over the table, whispering conspiratorially.

“It was _you_. I've seen him at Maz's this past week. Is he visiting you?” 

I try to brush her off, but her discerning glare has me smiling sheepishly.

“He is! You have that look.”

“I have a look?”

“The one you get when we go to a paint shop.”

Right. Human interaction isn't my forte.

“I don't know what to say.”

“Maybe sorry for not telling your best friends about the mysterious doctor who obviously watches you make coffee like it's an erotic endeavor?”

I choke on my soda. 

“He doesn't. He barely talks to me.” 

I hope my disappointment isn't as noticeable as it feels.

“He's probably too busy imagining other uses for those whip canisters.”

I flick beans at her face and she laughs.

\---

After a few more days of radio silence, he speaks. 

“Any plans for the holidays, Rey?” 

His deep baritone startles me. I glance up from the cups I have lined up. He leans against the brick partition.

“Not really,” I squeak. I'm aware of the wreaths and twinkling lights hanging from street lights outside, but I rarely dwell on them.

He nods, watching silky milk curl with rich brown espresso.

“Uh, you?” 

The corners of his lips lift.

“A few dinner parties. Nothing noteworthy.” 

Dinner parties most likely with influential board members and investors. I snort.

“Go us.”

He tilts his head and I want to die. Why am I so painfully awkward?

Finn slides through a puddle of milk, slinging an arm around my shoulders. 

“Aw, I told you you're always welcome at our place for dinner! Come this year, please?” 

I smile at the memory of last year's holiday dinner. Rose attempted to help Finn cook, and somehow charred an entire pan of sweet yams. Thankfully, she was barred from touching the chicken. 

This year, however, I can feel the shift in their relationship. I don't want to be in their way.

“Maybe.” 

I turn to set drinks at pickup. Kylo is rigid, tight lipped. His faint smile is gone.  Finn slips away to attend another wave of customers. I call out names.

“Not one for traditions?” he asks.

I shrug.

“The lights are pretty, but I'm not much for celebration. My foster parent never did anything for them.”

Yes Rey, overshare your boring life to this man with pretty lips and the softest looking hair ever created.

He raises an eyebrow but I ignore it. I'd rather not bring the thought of Plutt into my day. 

Gracious as ever, he redirects the conversation. My awkwardness barely seems to faze him.

“I'm more a fan of chinese food, myself.” 

I huff a laugh at the image of him slurping noodles from a takeout container. I pour white into an angled cup.

“That new place in Uptown, Jade House, has a mean chow mein.”

“Oh? I've been meaning to try them. Would you like to join me next week?” 

I turn to stare at him. Milk sloshes onto stainless steel as my hand follows the rest of my body.

“Uh.”

He blinks his brown eyes at me expectantly. They're warm in the morning sunlight. It's suddenly too hot in the building. My cheeks burn. His lips lift again.

A few hours ago I thought he was embarrassed for me, his interactions fueled by pity. Now he's asking me to spend Christmas day with him.

“Okay,” I mumble.

His smile widens and it's my turn to stare too long. Then his eyes drift to his unfinished drink. I slap a lid on the cup and set it in his outstretched paw.

“Text me later, then,” he says. Those warm eyes glimmer. 

Holy _shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this on the plane a few days ago but only now had the chance to post.
> 
> To everyone who struggles to stay healthy mentally during the holiday season, I'm thinking of you. You're not alone. <3
> 
> Huge thanks to everyone who follows my little story, it means a lot.


	6. compromise

I shake the jitters out of my fingers. It's just a text message, Rey. He won't bite.

 

_Does six o'clock work?_

 

I watch my screen like a thriller movie. I'm worried he won't reply- I waited until the morning of to ask. A notification pops within seconds.

 

_Six is great._

 

I put my phone down and stare at myself in the mirror. The fluorescent lighting stretches the bags under my eyes. Should I bother dressing up? I jump when my phone buzzes on the porcelain sink. 

 

_I can drive, if you like._

 

The thought of enduring a car ride plus dinner makes my heart jump to my throat. My nerves have me pacing my studio apartment, picking up one cleaning task before dropping it and starting another. I feel the first stirrings of tension behind my eye sockets. I swallowed a few ibuprofen, but the forecast looks grim. By tonight, I'll probably be under my pile of quilts with a cold rag over my eyes, listening to my neighbors fight.

 

_That's ok! I'll meet you there. :)_

 

I can't have him feel obligated to see me home, even if he may want to have dinner with me.

 

I've already checked the bus route I'll take three times, but I still open social media and click on the address attached to recent photos- Finn trapping me in a bearhug in front of a plate of dumplings, Rose giving me bunny ears while I stuff my face with pork buns. All courtesy of Rose's account, of course- she loves sharing all of our outings.

 

I sigh and yank on my hair. I have almost overdue bills waiting on my fold up table, a cracked window that needs plastic wrap and clothes strewn across my tiny studio. The only furniture besides my rickety metal table and chairs is the mattress on my floor, which I planned to elevate with pallets Finn helped me carry up the stairs. The hair can wait.

 

\---

 

My mitten wraps around a stable bar on the bus the same moment I realize I forgot to do my hair. My reflection stares back from the window, eyes dull, hair sticking every which way from the buns piled on my head. I take them out one at a time, smoothing hair down with stiff fingers. I frown as baby hairs rise stubbornly from the static.

 

Shit. Any good impression I could probably make is out of question in this state. Christmas isn't important to him either, I debate. Hopefully he didn't dress up.

 

It would be more apt to say _he_ dresses up the clothing. His sweater fits his wide frame perfectly, just snug enough to hint at the built muscles below. He sports black jeans that cling to his long legs and clean loafers, understated save for the gold tassels on them. He could make a burlap sack look like a fashion statement.

 

“I hope you haven't been waiting long.” I unbutton my coat, sniffing to stop my nose from running. I blink back tears from the cold.

 

Kylo shakes his head. “I just arrived. Here.” 

 

He helps pull my coat from my arms, hanging it next to his, and slides into the booth. I glance around the quiet restaurant. A few other guests enjoy noodles with hushed conversation indecipherable over the instrumental music playing. The statues and traditional decorations are painted in a vibrant green jade. Growing up in New Mexico made me fascinated with the color. The restaurant is dim, lit by warm sconces and twinkling gold lights. 

 

“Tea?” 

 

I nod, rubbing my chilled hands together. A waiter comes, snippy but attentive. Kylo orders tea- then rattles off a few dishes before I can grab the menu from the table. I chew on the inside of my cheek. I like everything he ordered, but...should I say something? 

 

The waiter returns within a minute with a metal teapot, and I distract myself with warming my hands on my cup when he pours some for me. He likes what he likes, I guess.

 

He seems at ease, as he always is, despite us not speaking. I scramble to fill the silence in an attempt to be less awkward.

 

“How did your dinner parties go?”

 

He lifts a shoulder. “I only fell asleep at one of them, so I think they were pretty successful.” 

 

“Doctors are that boring, huh?” 

 

“After you hear the same story of a botched knee arthroplasty, they tend to get a bit dry.” 

 

He sips at his tea, his hand dwarfing the cup.

 

“You're taking classes, right? What are you studying?” 

 

“Mechanical engineering.”

 

“Not art?” 

 

I shrug. “I love painting, but I tried going to art school for a semester. I hated it. Engineering has more options, anyway.”

 

I didn’t hate it- it was the best five months of my life before I realized most of my expenses wouldn't be covered with aid. If I had the option, all I would do is stay home and paint. I don't tell him about the way I fumble through the math classes, that I feel way in over my head even when I do well in labs. My veil of enthusiasm wanes when he gives me a long look before nodding. I can’t shake the feeling he sees right through me.

 

“I'm glad to see you still embracing your creativity. I always encourage it in patients, but even I find it hard to follow my own advice.”

 

I murmur in agreement, taking a deep breath. It's difficult to focus on his face in the dim lighting. His visage shifts into fuzzy shapes before snapping together again. It's a welcome interruption when the waiter arrives.

 

Steaming plates of colorful glazed meats and noodles are deposited on our table. My stomach rules over my brain as I pile my plate high, twirling noodles on my chopsticks before stuffing them searing hot into my mouth. Kylo joins me at a leisurely pace, and I slow down when he watches me down a giant piece of chicken.

 

“What kind of creative outlet do you have?” I ask.

 

“Calligraphy. I have a set still set up in my office, but haven't used them in months.”

 

I perk up. “Will you show me sometime?” 

 

He nods and I grin. I knew there was something more to this man.

 

Dinner seems to pass at a snail's pace. My head pulses and I lose track of our idle conversation. I think he asked me something about my hair, but I missed it- I smile shyly and hope he won't push for an answer. He deliberates before dropping his chopsticks. 

 

“I was going to wait until after dinner, but I can see you struggling.” 

 

He reaches into his coat hanging from the booth. In his grasp is a box with medical writing. A pharmaceutical label is slapped on the side, but it's empty. Treximet.

 

“It's a low dose. These can help your migraines if you take them the moment you experience pain.”

 

“Don't you need, I don't know, clearance to just take drugs?” 

 

He folds his arms on the table.

 

“I have a number of valid ways to get what I need, Miss Rey.”

 

That assertive _miss_. I gulp and hope he doesn't notice. 

 

“I don't know…you've already done a lot for me.”

 

Kylo tilts his head. He calculates and I squirm in my seat. He's helped me more than those required by law did when I was a kid, but I still can't understand why. I know I'm not ugly, even though I have a low self esteem- but no one does these things just for a pretty face. 

 

“It's okay to accept help from others. Especially when it is given freely. You need only ask.”

 

I chew my lip. His hand slides over dark wood, settling next to mine. 

 

“You owe me nothing. I want to do this.” 

 

The pad of his thumb grazes the top of my hand in torturous circles. My heart pounds in my chest. He's not talking about the meds.

 

“What do you want, Rey?”

 

I inhale a shaky breath, watching him soak in my reaction to him. My cheeks flare from the attention. I lick my lips, unable to stop myself from staring at his mouth.

 

“Pork buns.”

 

Kylo's mouth twitches. He nods and lifts his hand for the waiter, his eyes never leaving mine.

 

He advises me on the medication, telling me which side effects to keep track of. 

 

It starts to snow shortly after, so I let him drive me home.


End file.
